


Out of Sorts

by tatooedlaura



Series: Out of Sorts [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: post 'Rain King'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 06:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12293148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooedlaura/pseuds/tatooedlaura
Summary: What the hell?And now … the 2am out of sorts was in full swing.What the hell?!





	Out of Sorts

She should have been tired. She should have been sound asleep in her room, forty feet behind her, number 6 adjacent, but not adjoining, to Mulder’s number 4, hard mattresses creaking under Mulder’s tossing and Scully’s turning.

Instead, she sat in the dark, feet dangling in the semi-cool of the hotel pool, pajama pants rolled to above the knees, chipped toenail polish bright against the solitary underwater light; hands gripping the edge of the concrete, leaning forward, quiet pressing down, mentally out of sorts given that damn conversation she’d had with Sheila Fontaine.

She didn’t even realize she knew what she was talking about until she heard her voice declare, with a tone of grating truth she couldn’t take back, that she was in love with her partner.

What the hell?

And now … the 2am out of sorts was in full swing.

What the hell?!

The padding of bare feet and telltale snuffling of a half-awake Mulder gave her enough warning so his low-register greeting didn’t send her flailing into the water, “hey, y’all’right?”

Deciding looking up at him would tip him off to her quandry, she kept her gaze steady on rippling water, “yeah, just couldn’t sleep.”

Because he was Mulder, instead of inquiring further, delving into her psyche, probing the dark corners of her universe, he settled next to her, plopping his ass down close enough for thighs to touch and dropping his feet in with hers, “are you worried about flying cows as much as I am?”

Shit, maybe she did love him …

And a smile broke free, much to her chagrin because a smile would lead to … yup, right on time … Mulder slid his hand over her knee, squeezing just above it around the thigh muscle, four fingers and a thumb given to him by the gods to drive her crazy in moments of weakness, “but remember, if there are flying cows again, I’ll just have to bunk in with you.” Hand leaving warm joint, momentary sadness ensuing, “we’ll order some pizza, watch some crap TV, I’ll drool on you, you’ll wear my t-shirt, it’ll be a blast.” This time it was the shoulder bump that made her shiver, “although you’ve already taken care of the t-shirt part. You keep stealing stuff from me and I’ll be forced to work naked.”

The shirt in question was a subdued orange one, bearing the image of a crayon wearing a holster, ready for a fight, the word ‘Draw!’ scrawled above. They had a system, an understanding … she stole t-shirts, he stole them back, she stole socks, he stole the afghan when they fell asleep on her couch. “Do you really care that much that I have your shirt,” bold move, “’cause I can give it back if you really want it?”

“That is totally an 80’s movie cliché,” swallowing hard enough for her to see the bobbing Adam’s apple, “yet I am very tempted to demand the t-shirt back, just to see what you’ll do.”

Shoulder bump back, staying pressed against him this time, “so, are you really worried about cows?”

“Was kinda hoping for one but, like lightning, cows don’t normally strike twice.”

One last question before she’d better run for her life, “how did you know I was out here?”

“Because I know you.” Leaning heavily on her arm, “you want to go find some of that pizza and crap TV with me? My mattress isn’t quite as terrible as it could be.”

Did she dare? “where in the world are we going to find pizza delivery at 2am?”

Mulder, glance at his watch telling him it was even later, “2:42am and no idea but we can try.”

And she heard something different … something that wasn’t there before … she felt it in his tone, his timbre and she stood, water running off her legs, puddling instantly around wrinkled feet, out of sorts rearing once again, “um, actually, I should probably get to bed, try to sleep, we’ve got a long drive to the airport.”

The disappointment flitted across his face, head tilt nearly imperceptible, eyebrow scrunch millimeters if at all, “oh, yeah … I forgot about the tornado squashing that little thing we flew in on. What time do we leave then?”

“No later than 7, probably.”

Nodding, he followed her across the cool cement, her pajama-clad figure close but out of reach, then he stopped at his door, waiting until she got to hers, “you know … we’ve run on no sleep before.”

Her grin kept itself aimed at the tarnished brass number 6, hand frozen on old-fashioned knob, brain debating whether to tell her ‘out of sorts’ to fuck off for a bit, “we have, haven’t we?”


End file.
